


In Sheep's Clothing

by Lhugy_for_short



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Gypsy slave/Werewolf, M/M, Not Furry (but Gladio has a tail), Oral Sex, Tagged warnings for the final chapter, Werewolf AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: When a strange man stumbles bleeding into the Romani camp, Prompto knows exactly what kind of secrets he's hiding. But in trying to keep his distance, he instead finds himself irresistibly drawn to the werewolf's charms.(The final chapter will be released as part of Promptio Week 2017!)





	1. The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Daiako for way too much research material for this *wink* Also, the inspiration for Prompto's outfit/design came from some beautiful artwork by MissYunfa on Tumblr! Go check her out!

Prompto knew exactly what the man was the moment he stumbled into their camp, weak, bleeding, and begging for water. 

He could tell right away he wasn’t human. At least not entirely. There was something in his stance, in the way his dark, thick hair flowed unkempt down past his shoulders that gave him an almost animalistic appearance. His eyes, a piercing amber and fever-bright, seemed calculating as they scanned over the dark faces of the Romani who emerged from their caravans to see him. To stare. 

His appearance aside, the man was injured, and badly from the looks of it. Prompto noticed he held a large hand clamped over his left side just under his ribcage. It was colored deep red -  _ everything was  _ \- all soaked in blood, from his dirt-stained fingers to the thin cotton tunic he wore over bronzed skin. And he was in pain, if the grimace he tightened with each step was any clue. 

Where had he come from? How had he been hurt? There was no time for questions. Prompto watched from the window of his Mistress’ caravan as several of the younger men from the camp approached the newcomer, lifted him into the air. Struggled to carry him into their makeshift circle of wagons, lean-tos, and firepits. 

Prompto’s heart thudded in an already too-tight chest. What were they doing?! Couldn't they see what he was? Even to one like him, no more than a useless slave, he could see the danger in inviting such a monstrous beast right into their camp. Could no one else sense the fear? 

Apparently not. And then, to Prompto’s utter horror, the men turned and started directly for him. 

"Ezma, open up!" one of them called, his voice strained under the weight of the injured man he bore. From behind him Prompto heard a shuffling, turned in time to see his ancient Mistress, the Witch Ezma, get to her wobbling knees amidst a bed of cushions and rags. Her eyes, hard and half-blind, sought out her slave in the dim light within the caravan.

"What is this racket about? Boy, get the door!"

Prompto scrambled to his bare feet, nearly tripping over the sheer length of blue fabric that swept down between his thighs in his sudden panic. His Mistress snarled, banged her hand on the nearest surface - her medicine table - and commanded again. "Quick, you worthless insect! Let them in!"

The door flung outward. Prompto immediately scrambled back as far as he could on the wooden floor as four men barged inside. Between them was the wounded man, suspended in their strong arms and face twisted in agony. Sweat coated his creased brow, but it was his teeth that Prompto had fixed his terrified gaze upon - they gnashed together, slick with foam and blood, and unnaturally sharp. 

"Put him down on the table. Yes, there," Ezma snapped at the young men as her home rapidly filled with noise and energy. "Mind the blood doesn't stain my blankets!"

Bowl, vials, jars of strange concoctions were knocked aside, and at last the injured man was laid out on the long table. Under his head, Ezma wedged a ball of torn cloth as a pillow. She laid a gnarled but steady hand over his eyes and brow, brushed away locks of dark hair as she felt his fever burning hot. "Infection. He's close to death," she announced, and Prompto dared lean a little closer from his position on his knees at the far wall. 

"Can you treat him?" one of the young men asked. Her response was an indifferent shrug. 

"That depends. Does he have any coin?"

In the room, the men exchanged looks. Ezma was as legendary for her healing arts as she was for her temperament, both of which had grown more potent over the years. When no one bothered to answer, she flung her hands up in disgust. "No coin, no treatment! Do you take me for a fool?"

Arms waving, she began gesturing for them to take the bloody mess of a patient back outside, when a sudden hand caught her around the leg. "Wait."

She froze, glared at the man on the table who was now staring back at her with half-lidded amber eyes. As everyone in the small caravan watched on, he gingerly reached into the tattered, blood-soaked opening at the collar of his tunic and withdrew a pouch. 

It was small, made of a dark, supple leather (also stained a darker shade of brown-black). When he dropped it onto the edge of the table it jingled with a familiar sound that caught and held Ezma’s attention. 

"Please," the man rasped. "Help me."

When she smiled and scooped up the bag of coins, Prompto felt his gut twist with a sense of impending terror. 

His Mistress had just made a deal with a werewolf. 


	2. Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left alone with the werewolf, Prompto tries - and fails - to focus on his work.

The night had been long, but by dawn it seemed the worst of the man’s fever had passed.

As usual, Prompto sat in his window on the far side of the caravan. Even with his arms wrapped around his chest against the early spring chill, he still shivered. Not only from the cold, but from exhaustion as well. He’d stayed awake throughout the night, on orders from his Mistress to look after her patient while she’d slept, and dripped bitter herbal teas between his lips whenever he cried out in pain. 

Now, with Ezma having gone out at first light to fetch water, Prompto was alone in the room with the sick wolfman. 

Another shiver ran through him, but he didn’t dare move from his post. Every so often, the dark-haired, bronze-skinned man on the table made a sound, deep and low in his throat, something very akin to a growl, and Prompto felt his skin prickle with fear. Part of him had hoped the man would succumb to his wounds during the night and die before he could cause any harm. Though the moon had already begun to wane some nights ago, even in human form a werewolf was extremely dangerous. How Prompto, a mere slave to a blind old witch, could see that when no one else could remained a mystery to him. 

His thoughts were scattered as the door of the caravan slammed open. Ezma hobbled inside on her ancient legs, grumbling to herself as she hauled a large bowl of water into the room and let it drop next to her patient. Water splashed onto the dusty, wooden floor, but she paid no mind, instead turning to hurl a rag at Prompto’s face. 

“Get to work,” she snapped, immediately heading back to her bed of cushions in the corner. 

For a moment, Prompto was frozen. Rag in hand, he glanced from the bowl of water on the floor to Ezma’s haggard face in confusion, until at last she noticed him and threw her hands in the air. 

“Are you deaf, too, boy? I said get to work!” Her voice was a snarl, her mouth twisted in disgust. “I won’t heal his infection just to have another one kill him anyway. Clean him up!”

_ Oh.  _ Now he understood. Yet still his fingers trembled around the rag and his legs refused to move beneath him. Terror, fear, kept him in place. 

Ezma sneered, misunderstanding. “What’s the matter, boy? Not like you’ve never seen a naked man before.” She knew her words stung, grinned as she caught the familiar shadow passing over her slave’s face. “Clean him up, I said. Or that won’t be the only thing I’ll make you do.”

Gut tight, fingers still shaking, Prompto at last forced himself into motion. Some things, he knew, were worse than bathing a werewolf. 

As his Mistress sunk down into her nest, Prompto set to work. He dipped his rag into the cool water, ringing out the excess before pressing it gently to the man’s forehead. Several thin rivulets ran down his sweat-stained skin, wetting his hair and forcing a soft breath from his lungs. Prompto swallowed, held the rag still as he willed the man not to wake. Tense seconds passed, until finally the other’s expression stilled and he fell back into slumber. Prompto released a silent sigh. 

He resumed washing his face and neck first, amazed as just how much grime he was able to wipe away, and quietly marveled at the radiant color of the skin revealed little by little as he worked. The man was handsome, there was no denying it, even with his rough-shaven beard and full lips drained pale in sickness. Prompto recalled the way those eyes had shone bright amber in the light of dusk, and suddenly realized his hands were trembling out of more than simply fear. 

But once he had finished with every inch of visible skin and came to the edge of the man’s low-cut tunic, he stopped. He knew he somehow had to manage to clean the rest of him, particularly his side where that nasty wound still festered under Ezma’s makeshift bandages. Yet simply lifting his shirt wouldn’t be enough to reach his whole body, so how was he supposed to undress him without moving him first? He looked incredibly heavy -- it had taken four men to carry him inside, after all -- and Prompto certainly didn’t want to wake him to ask for his help. That left him only one other option: cutting the clothes off.

Prompto had neither a knife nor scissors, but the material of the shirt was thin as he twisted his fingers around the hem. He started the tear with his teeth, ignoring the soft puffs of breath against his hair when he leaned forward, and began to rip the fabric in two. Yet the bottom half of the shirt was stained and crusted with dark blood, and though he struggled with all his strength couldn’t manage to tear the halves apart. He had nearly given up again when, without warning, the body on the table shifted.

“There’s a knife in my pocket,” the man’s gravely voice informed him, and Prompto snapped his blue eyes up at once. There it was, that predatory amber gaze, watching him under heavy lids as his mouth curled in… _ something  _ \- amusement? Hunger? 

Prompto dropped the edges of the shirt and scooted back across the room. 

The man suddenly frowned. “Hey, no, it’s okay," he started. "Don’t worry, I’m not mad This isn’t my shirt anyway. Please, use the knife, it’ll be easier.”

Several heartbeats passed. Despite his better judgement, Prompto cautiously edged closer to the table again as the man gestured to his right leg. Quickly, careful not to let his touch linger, Prompto dipped his hand into the pocket there and pulled out a small, bone-handled knife wrapped within a leather sheath. He drew it out, and waited for the man’s permission again before hooking the blade under the stained fabric of his shirt. It sliced apart like paper, falling open on either side of his body to reveal thick muscle, the painful-looking gash along his side, and surprisingly intricate lines inked dark against the skin of his chest and shoulders. 

All other thoughts fled his mind, and Prompto just managed to contain his gasp at the sight. 

_ Tattoos, hundreds of thick lines forming the shape of a bird with a great, gaping maw, and wings of razor-sharp feathers.  _ There was only one thing a mark like this could mean on a man -- that he was a criminal, that he had been caught and branded for his crimes by the people he had wronged. Labeled for all the world to see as a danger and a threat. 

Fear resurged. Suddenly, Prompto wasn’t sure he wanted to know how the man had come upon his wound. Or the money he'd paid to Ezma the night before. 

Amber eyes followed his gaze, darkened in shadow, and the man gave a sad smile. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said after a heavy pause. “You saved my life. I’m in your debt. Please.” A large hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, reached out to wrap around the wrist where Prompto still clutched the wash rag. “Don’t be afraid.”

What else was there for him to do? His Mistress’ orders had been clear, and those eyes, so pleading, so soft despite everything the man was, continued to draw Prompto in. He chewed his lip for a moment while he looked again over the dark ink covering bronzed skin, then nodded curtly. 

“Thank you.” As he set back to work cleaning away the newly exposed filth, the man laid his head back down against the table and sighed in relief. “It was you who cared for me last night, wasn't it? I recognize the color of your eyes. What’s your name?” 

No answer. 

He cracked open his eyes again, glanced down at the blonde hovering over his chest. “You do have a name, don’t you?”

Blue eyes met his, and Prompto nodded carefully. 

“Can’t you speak?”

The blond stared, then slowly shook his head. As if in explanation, he flicked his gaze over to the old woman curled up in the corner, snoring loudly. His Mistress, his owner. Understanding dawned as the man’s mouth curved down. 

“Oh. You’re...not  _ allowed  _ to speak?”

Prompto nodded again this time. But something in the man’s gaze held him, kept him from turning back to his task just yet. 

“She’s asleep, you know,” he pressed in a hushed, almost playful voice. “It’ll be our secret. I just want to know the name of the beauty who’s saved my life.”

Heat flared across Prompto’s face in an instant, turning his cheeks a bright red under spattered freckles. Briefly, he considered escaping. scrambling back across the room to his spot by the window, while leaving his task unfinished and the man unanswered. But somehow, he once again found himself frozen to the spot, caught between fear and curiosity. Would it really be so dangerous to simply give the man his name? What harm could it really do when he was lying infirm in a witch’s caravan in the middle of the woods? 

Leaning forward, wetting his lips in trepidation, he lowered himself as close as he dared to the man’s ear and whispered, “Prompto.”

A warm smile broke across an otherwise grim face. “ _ Prompto _ ,” he repeated as if testing the name on his own tongue. “I’m Gladio - that's short for Gladiolus.”

_ Like the flower _ , Prompto thought to himself, and smiled fleetingly as he returned to his work in silence. 

With Gladio’s chest at last free of dirt and grime, all that was left lay under the bandages. Prompto peeled them off carefully, dipped the rag once more into the cool water before turning his attention to the patient’s wound. It was a deep gash that sliced through flesh and muscle alike from the base of his rib cage almost to his navel. The edges were jagged and stained a sickly orange-green with infection. And it smelled, both from the wound itself and the potent herbs Ezma had pressed into it the night before. Prompto held his breath, touched the rag as gently as he could to the skin just below the injury --

\-- and jumped when Gladio roared aloud at the pain. " _ Etros’ balls, _ " he swore, his fingers gripping the edges of the table hard enough to splinter the wood. The skin around the wound was already turning a fiery red from the contact. “Maybe...not there,” he wheezed, casting a tight grin up at Prompto.

No choice. One way or another he had to clean and redress the injury, and the stern look he gave in return told Gladio as much. Prompto gestured for him to sit up as much as he could bear, then held a single finger up to his own lips. 

It was in mild panic that Gladio watched him slink away. The blue veil-like fabric of his almost-skirt swished between his legs as he approached a cabinet against the wall next to Ezma’s sleeping form. The door of this he opened carefully so as not to make a sound, and withdrew something in a dark glass bottle before returning to the patient’s side. 

His smile seemed to say,  _ Drink this _ , and he held it up in offering -- Gladio didn't hesitate in the least. One swig, a second, a third of the dark gold liquid had his throat burning and his chest filling with warmth, and with it the pain in his side gradually dulled to a bearable ache. 

Gladio set the bottle (now half empty) aside and sucked in a breath. Prompto waited for his signal -- a brave nod -- then set to work as efficiently as possible. 

In his focus, he barely noticed the warm light of amber eyes watching him from the head of the table, or the way Gladio’s fingers twitched and hesitated mere inches from his thigh. 


	3. You knew?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto finds out, more or less by accident, that Gladio's been keeping a lot more in his pants than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little NSFW, enjoy ;3

Three days passed before they saw any improvement in Gladio’s condition, but by that time he and Prompto had formed something of a routine. Each morning, after Ezma left the caravan for her daily chores, Prompto would descend from his post at the window to sit by the patient’s side instead. He would clean and dress Gladio’s wound, all while listening to his stories of the world far beyond the Romani encampment. Tales of bustling cities, distant mountains, foods and songs the likes of which Prompto had only ever imagined in his wildest dreams. 

From these stories, he learned that Gladio worked as something of a sellsword. He would help travelers in need or catch thieves and murderers who had escaped the town jailers for a fee.  _ A warrior _ , Prompto mused. That certainly explained the muscles. (In hindsight, he was very glad he had decided to throw out the stained remains of Gladio’s shirt) 

But he hadn’t yet revealed the story of how he’d received his wound. Nor, of course, had he mentioned his _ other _ affliction, the one Prompto had to keep reminding himself of when he felt himself drawn too close to the handsome man. Whatever else he was, Gladiolus was a werewolf -- Prompto was more certain of that now than ever. It was evident in his eyes which, though they softened day by day with the waning cycle of the moon, were still unnaturally alert, still shone eerily in the dark of night. It was in his teeth, which sometimes seemed too sharp and too big for his mouth, though he was careful to hide them save for when he grinned. 

And, as Prompto discovered on the fourth day, there were other parts of Gladio’s body that defied alternative explanation. 

It had started with another bath. 

As the oldest (and, in fact, only) healer in the camp, Ezma usually opened her doors to paying customers one day each week. Yet with her medicine table otherwise occupied for the time being, she had decided to move her business outside and leave Prompto in charge of the home. After helping Gladio to turn onto his good side long enough to relieve his bladder into a rusted bucket (Prompto dutifully averted his eyes), he once more gathered up some clean rags and carried over the bowl of water his Mistress had fetched for his work. It occurred to him that previously he had only managed to wash Gladio's upper body, and it stood to reason that his lower half was likely in need of a bath, as well. Approaching the topic was easy enough, though Gladio's response was unexpected to say the least.

"No, really. I'll do it myself," he said firmly after Prompto had once again reached for the belt around his waist. The blonde sat back on his bare feet and frowned. In his hand, the wet rag dripped cool water onto the floor, the  _ pat, pat _ of the drops the only sound between them for the moment. It was a battle of wills; the determined nurse versus his stubborn patient. 

When Gladio still didn't budge, Prompto resorted to his next best strategy: pouting. 

"Come on," Gladio groaned at the sight of those round, blue eyes gazing up at him above freckled cheeks. "Let a man keep some of his dignity at least."

Prompto looked genuinely perplexed at that. With all of his muscle and such a hard-earned build, he doubted there was anything for Gladio to be ashamed of, least of all of what lay between his legs. In fact, Prompto wasn't blind -- he'd noticed the way the loose fabric of those dark pants hung over Gladio's groin, had tried (and failed) not to imagine the size of the member lurking underneath. 

Besides, while Prompto himself wasn't exactly a healer, he was Gladio's caretaker for now, and that meant there were certain things neither of them were allowed to feel shy about. It was purely in the interest of medicine. Of course.

Still pouting, he tilted his head in question as he laid a hand atop one of the other's powerful thighs. 

"I, um," Gladio started, his gaze flicking from Prompto's face down to the delicate fingers resting on his leg, and swallowed. "I don't think you understand, Prom." If not for the contact, Prompto would have missed the way Gladio shifted his hips uncomfortably against the surface of the table. "There are some things...."

"Don't be afraid," came Prompto's soft, almost hesitant voice beside him. Since giving Gladio his name, he'd only spoken a few short, words, and only when he was absolutely certain Ezma wasn't around to hear. But this time, he cleared his throat and pressed further. "Trust me. I want to help."

From the other end of the table, he watched as several emotions at once fought for control over Gladio's expression. His face switched from startled to pleading, to fearful and finally, to Prompto's relief, something akin to cautious consent. 

Prompto laid the wash rag on the table and leaned forward. Though his fingers edged toward Gladio's belt, his eyes were still watching his face, the little twitch at the corner of his mouth as the clasp was undone. Despite the ache it caused in his side, he did his best to raise his hips high enough for Prompto to slide his pants down over them. More and more bronze skin was revealed, along with a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel to the base of his (as Prompto had predicted, well-endowed) cock. Even dormant, it was enough of a sight in the blonde's peripheral vision to send his cheeks flaring against his will. 

Neither spoke. Gladio's breathing was uneven, anxious as Prompto took up the rag and began to rub slow, familiar circles over the skin of his hips. He moved silently down to his thighs, careful to avoid contact with the length between them -- particularly because he could already see the way it was swelling despite Gladio's obvious efforts to coax it back to sleep. By the time Prompto had finished one leg and was moving over to the other, Gladio was fully hard and glaring at the ceiling in utter agony at his situation. 

"Gladio." Prompto paused in his work to glance up at him. "Do you...."

"It's not like I can help it." His voice was breaking, he sounded as if he'd somehow been wounded. Well, wounded  _ again _ , anyway. "You're beautiful, Prom. And you're always wearing that...that  _ thing _ ."

"This?" Blue eyes blinking wide, Prompto looked down at himself in surprise. He never put much thought into the clothes Ezma dressed him in, mostly because the outfit was hardly for his own amusement, and because he didn't have a say in the matter anyway. 

In fact, to call them "clothes" was a bit of an exaggeration. The top he wore was barely long enough to cover his nipples; a thin piece of silk -- the same blue color as his eyes -- that hung down over his chest from two straps tied behind his neck. His lower half had fared even worse -- nothing but a white garment between his legs attached to a bronze, curved hoop encircling his hips like a belt. From the back of it, the skirt-like veil that draped immodestly over his ass and thighs, cut from the same, sheer fabric as the piece above. 

Over the years, Prompto had grown accustomed to having nearly all of his body exposed and on display. He was a slave, after all, and while he wasn't tending to Ezma's business, she'd put him to use earning money in other ways. 

He'd grown accustomed to it, yet still felt a flame of heat color his face when Gladio suddenly asked  _ why _ .

"Prompto?" Despite his own vulnerable position at that moment, Gladio found himself growing more concerned for the blonde, who had averted his eyes and once again fallen silent. It made him regret the question instantly. "Sorry, it's none of my business. You don't have to answer that."

A pause, followed by a sad smile and a shake of his head. "You know what I am. Mistress Ezma owns me, she paid for me a long time ago. An investment." Gladio started to open his mouth again, but Prompto's warm fingers replacing the rag along his inner thigh shut him up quick. "Some men pay a lot of money. She says it's because of my hair, that the color is rare in this land. She says all men like fucking exotic whores. Is that true?"

Gladio couldn't move, could hardly even breathe. Prompto's hand had traveled further up his leg, until his knuckles were brushing against the dark skin of his balls and he was lifting himself onto the table. One pale, slender leg draped over his bare skin until the blonde was straddling either side of his thighs, ever careful to temper his weight on the man below. In this position, Gladio had little need of his imagination as to just what lay under that revealing getup.

"Prom," he breathed, unable to keep his hands from hooking around milky thighs. "This isn't.... Y-you don't have to...."

The wash rag returned, cool and rough and wet against his aching flesh. Gladio let out a low gasp, dropped his head back against the table as his amber eyes grew wide. The touch of the cloth against his cock was gentle, almost frustratingly so, and without thinking he rolled up into the contact -- 

\-- and swore as his side thrummed with pain. 

"Be still," came Prompto's soothing voice. While he continued to stroke Gladio under the pretense of bathing him, there was no mistaking the dark look in his eyes or the hurried pace at which he worked. Within moments, he appeared satisfied with his thoroughness, and tossed the rag aside to let his fingers take over in its place. 

Beneath him, Gladio groaned and tightened his grip. Amber eyes rolled back, and despite the order to remain still his hips bucked up involuntarily into that soft, expert touch. Perhaps it was only a play of the light, but Prompto thought he saw something move then -- a shadow, dark and fleeting, against the outside of Gladio’s thigh. It was gone before he could even be sure it was real, so he smiled and turned his focus back to the large cock in his hand. 

Under his ministrations, it didn’t take long before Gladio was reaching his limits. Even the pain in his side couldn’t compare to the overwhelming pleasure of being touched so earnestly, and although he didn’t want it to end he also felt his climax edging closer and closer to the surface. “ _ Prompto _ ,” he breathed, his lips trembling and thighs clenching in his need. “ _ Gods,  _ don’t stop -- ”

“Don’t hold back,” the blonde encouraged. He stroked his hand faster, swiped his thumb over the head and teased his slit, smiled as the man below him fell apart in ecstasy. When he spilled himself, hard and hot between Prompto’s fingers, the blonde was left just as breathless at the sight of Gladio’s lips pulling back and those sharp, white teeth grinding together with the force of his orgasm. 

He fell back against the table, his entire body going limp as his heart beat a powerful tempo against his ribs.

While Gladio gulped and gasped for air, Prompto noticed warm, milky sex running down the length of his palm and over his wrist. Eyes still locked on the other man’s face, he reached down toward the table blindly for his rag to wipe them both clean...

...and was rewarded with a  _ very definitely real something  _ brushing against his thumb. 

Prompto jumped and nearly toppled over the table in his surprise. 

The shadow he had noticed before in the corner of his vision was there again, a brown-black color curling around the edge of Gladio’s thigh. It wasn’t large, but it seemed to wrap around and continue back beneath his leg. And, Prompto realized with quite a start, it was covered in hair. Or, rather,  _ fur. _

“What -- ?” he started to ask, eyes wide, and Gladio gave a sleepy hum in response. “D-do you have a… a -- ?”  

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.  _ Tail _ , he heard the word resonate in his head, and swallowed. Gladio’s eyes had fallen closed, so he steeled himself momentarily before reaching down again, this time to purposefully stroke his fingertips against the object in question. It was indeed quite furry, the coarse hairs bristling under his touch as he pet along the length of the tip. Surprisingly warm, too, and lively as it flicked and wagged against his hand. 

Prompto hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the sound of Gladio’s voice, low and distant, pulled a gasp from him. 

“I told you,” he said, his amber eyes watching Prompto’s hand near his hip. “There are some things you...shouldn’t have to see.” Though blue eyes fell on him, Gladio’s own gaze remained fixed. 

“It is a tail, isn’t it.” At Prompto’s words, he merely nodded. “Do all of your kind have them? Or was your transformation incomplete?”

_ There, _ now he had the werewolf’s full attention. For several moments, Gladio looked as if he was considering bolting from the room right then. Yet with Prompto’s weight still on him and his pants around his knees, he evidently decided he wasn’t going to make it far anyway. Instead, he settled for a disbelieving, “ _ You knew?” _


	4. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shock of the moment gone, Prompto discovers just what a gentle beast Gladio can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the inspiration for the tail thing comes from that old made-for-TV-movie The Tenth Kingdom. The character Wolf (as in, the Big Bad) remains in human form except for his eyes and his fluffy little tail.... Which is surprisingly sensitive ;3

“ _ You knew?” _

“Of course..”

“But -- !” Now Gladio’s eyes were as alert as his tail, which had gone straight and thickened as the fur stood on end. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why did you…?” he croaked, trailing off as he gestured first to the wound at his side, then further down to his flagging cock and the mess of white sex pooling below it. 

Prompto merely shrugged. “I thought someone else would notice, too. Or,” -- his cheeks darkened in admission -- “that you would die that first night. But...you didn’t. And I’m glad.”

“I’m dangerous,” Gladio warned. “I’m a monster.” 

“Maybe.” Prompto chewed his lip in silence. His gaze roved back down to the end of the tail jutting out from under Gladio’s thigh, saw the way it was curling up as if trying to hide itself, and a different thought occurred to him. “You’ve been hiding that this whole time in your pants, haven’t you?”

Gladio’s frown deepened and he gave a curt nod. 

“Isn’t it uncomfortable? Don’t you want to stretch it out?”

Had he been slapped in the face Gladio’s eyes couldn’t have grown any wider in shock. He gawked up at the blonde, stammered clumsily for a response, until Prompto made the obvious decision for him. Holding out a hand in offering, he guided Gladio onto his good side on the table and helped him to find a comfortable position without reopening his wound. 

The moment his tail was free, it unfurled from its cramped position and began to sweep lazily across the surface of the table. It was larger than Prompto had expected, about the length of his own forearm from his elbow to the tip of his fingers. Wider, too, as the fur (which he noticed was a much lighter shade of brown on the underside and grew as dark as Gladio’s hair at the tip) bristled and fluffed. 

Gladio let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, flicking the tip of his tail experimentally. “You can’t imagine how hot it gets in there.”

Strangeness of the circumstances aside, Prompto couldn’t help but smile at that. Already sitting perched on the edge of the table near Gladio’s chest, it was easy to reach over his body to brush his fingers once more against coarse, dark fur. He could feel the muscles of the tail rippling under his touch, and as his smile widened even Gladio began to relax. The werewolf closed his eyes, hummed softly as Prompto pet him. Gladio allowed his tail to curl up into Prompto’s palm, fluttering playfully against it, before wrapping around his hand and stroking over his knuckles in turn. 

Prompto did something then that neither of them had expected.  _ He laughed _ . 

The sound was light, pure, the most beautiful sound Gladio could ever recall hearing in his life, and his smile faltered. As Prompto turned his summer blue gaze to him, Gladio reached up as if to touch his cheek, thought better of it, and curled his fingers around the back of his neck instead. Then Prompto was moving forward, throwing one arm out for balance as he was guided forward to meet Gladio’s lips. 

Prompto had been kissed before, but nothing like this. When Ezma sent him off with the men who paid her, they would sometimes steal kisses in the midst of passion; but they were always hard, demanding, a way to lay their claim on a body that belonged to a slave. 

But Gladio was different. When Gladio kissed him, Prompto felt his chest swell with the tenderness of it. His full lips were exploratory rather than insistent; his tongue flicked out to taste but not to seek entrance. Prompto gave it to him anyway, parting his mouth with a soft sigh and letting him in to trace the ridges of his teeth. Like the rest of him, Gladio’s tongue was gentle, magnetic, and Prompto quickly found himself unwilling to break the kiss.

That was, until Gladio’s fingers brushed over the front of his white undergarment to confirm the hardness steadily building there. With a gasp Prompto pulled away, his eyes searching the other’s face for some sort of explanation, but finding only warmth in the grin there. 

“Let me return the favor?” he pressed, even as his fingers stroked a purposeful rhythm over the blonde’s cock through his clothes. “You weren’t planning to do it yourself, were you?” His lips closed the distance again and, despite the flicker of panic surging through him, Prompto melted into him. 

“I c-can’t,” he managed at last between the constant stream of fervent kisses. “If Ezma...were to catch me….” He paused to suck in a breath as Gladio’s fingers, so much thicker and stronger than his own, slipped beneath the fabric to graze his pulsing flesh. “S-she would p-punish me.” 

His words were slurred, a combination of the way Gladio was touching him and the way his mouth continued to steal his breath. But the larger man let out a gruff sound and merely hugged Prompto closer. 

“She’s a bitch.” 

There was no room for argument as Prompto was guided down onto the table next to him, one thigh raised up and over Gladio’s hip to grant better access. With his free hand, Gladio pet Prompto’s face, his hair, his neck as they kissed, swallowed his soft cries and moans while bringing him ever closer to the edge. He could sense the smaller man beginning to tense against him and smiled. 

“Prom,” came his deep voice next to the other’s ear. “Come with me.”

Prompto whimpered. He didn’t understand what Gladio was saying. How could they come together when Gladio wasn’t even…? But the heat bubbling within him was too strong to ignore in the moment. Clinging tightly to broad shoulders, he cried out as he released into Gladio’s hand, hips pumping up and back arching with the force of it. Several shudders racked through him, had him burying his face against the roughness of Gladio’s jaw until the spasms passed and he slowly, gradually, regained the ability to think. 

And his very first thought was awe. 

No one had  _ ever _ done this for him before. 

“Hey.” Gladio nudged the top of his hair with his lips. “You alright?” 

It took a moment, but finally Prompto managed a nod. Kiss-swollen lips still parted by panting breaths, he tilted his face up until he was swimming in warm, amber pools. 

Gladio smiled again. “Come with -- “

A shout sounded outside, wrenching them both from the moment. “Keep yer damn mutt on a leash, then!” came the familiar, rasping voice just beyond the window of the caravan. A low whine -- that of a dog -- and then more shouting. 

Prompto sat up on the table with a start. “Ezma,” was all he said before jumping into motion. He stuffed himself back into his undergarments, roughly wiped down his hands and the evidence of their play from Gladio’s stomach, then helped the larger man get his pants back up around his hips. This time, Gladio didn’t flinch when Prompto wrapped his fingers around his tail and tucked it firmly back inside his clothing. 

By the time Ezma’s teetering footsteps could be heard outside the door, the scene within the caravan was completely changed; Gladio lay in feigned sleep atop the table as Prompto kneeled at his side, wringing out the wash rag (and, coincidentally, a certain damning evidence) with a complacent expression. 

The door banged open and the witch stormed in without so much as a glance in their direction. “That damn Takka, his beast’s been digging in my herbs again,” she snarled at no one in particular. “Maybe it’s time to fish out my old recipe for dog meat stew.” 

As she cackled, Prompto felt Gladio shudder next to him.


	5. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio's wounds are healing fast. How long before he leaves the camp - and Prompto - behind forever?

“You’re healing fast.” Ezma stepped back from her patient and rubbed her knotted fingers over her chin as if in thought. 

Gladio’s bandages were next to him on the top of the table, but the man himself did indeed seem a far cry from the feverish, bleeding, half-dead body that had been brought into the witch’s caravan less than a fortnight before. He was sitting up now, the rich color of his skin and full brightness of his eyes having returned in full, as he pressed large fingers gingerly to the wound at his side. 

Even Prompto, who was neither a healer nor a witch, knew that the injury was mending at an unnaturally quick rate. While most men, even others as young and fit as Gladio, would be left bedridden for months after such a near-fatal wound, his had already closed up and was beginning to fade into a pinkish-brown scar.

Prompto, of course, knew this was likely an effect of his supernatural body’s defences, but he wondered just what Ezma would make of it.

But she was already turning away from the table, muttering to herself as she searched for something within her medicine cabinet. Gladio flashed his gaze toward Prompto, who smiled shyly and shrugged. 

“A- _ ha _ . Here it is.” When she whirled around again, Ezma held a sprig of light green-and-yellow leaves between her gnarled fingers. They smelled sweet, their fragrance spreading quickly through the room as she brought them closer. “Impwort,” she explained. “It’ll sting like fire, but keep that nasty cut from scarring.” 

Gladio started to protest -- what was one more scar on a battle-worn body like his? -- but Ezma was already wrapping the herbs under his dressings and pressing them against his skin. Instantly, Gladio felt a slight tingle, followed by a growing heat as the medicine set to work. His fingers twitched at his side, already itching to scratch at the spot. 

“Thanks,” he forced between clenched teeth. “Does this mean I’ll be free to go soon?” 

He certainly didn’t miss the way Prompto’s eyes widened where he stood behind his Mistress, or the look of distress he shot him right after. Yet Ezma’s answer came as something of a relief. 

“No, absolutely not,” she snapped. “You’re  _ my  _ patient, you leave when  _ I _ give you permission. And you’re not getting permission until I’m certain you won’t drop dead on my floor.”

Despite her size, all the more noticeable by her back bent with age, her voice was still commanding enough to leave Gladio no room to debate. Instead, he thought for a moment and tried a different tactic. 

“And a walk outside? You wouldn’t deny a patient fresh air, would you?” Though he affected a smile, Prompto could hear the biting tone beneath his words and noticed the way his eyes narrowed as he addressed her. Ezma, however, merely waved a hand. 

“Stay close. Don’t go reopening that wound,” she ordered, already turning toward her makeshift bed for a nap. “I won’t treat you again because of your own stupidity.”

“Got it,” he grinned. As he slowly got to his feet, standing for the first time in what felt like ages, he stretched his arms up over his head and shook out the soreness in his back. A series of loud  _ pops _ accompanied by a flood of warmth over his spine had him smiling even wider, and as he shrugged a dark black vest over his other wise bare shoulders, he flashed Prompto a smile. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a voice loud enough to allow Ezma to think he was still speaking to her. The blonde nodded, leaned into a subtle kiss as the larger man brushed past him. 

Then, as Gladio stepped out into the bright, spring day, Prompto retreated back to his window to wait in silence.

He wasn’t kept waiting long. Over the constant drone of his Mistress’ snoring in the corner, he eventually heard a sound like rustling just outside the caravan. Turning, he glanced out over his shoulder at the edge of the forest mere yards away. A shape there, oddly low to the ground, clung to the shadows of the underbrush, but it was definitely moving….  _ Gladio? _ Prompto started to lean forward for a better view when, from just under the sill, Gladio suddenly appeared to startle him. 

A hand thrown over his mouth just in time was all that kept Prompto from shrieking and pulling Ezma from her slumber. As Gladio grinned in through the open window, Prompto sucked in gasping breaths and shot him a glare. 

“Not fair!” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. 

But Gladio was ready. He reached one hand inside the caravan to curl around the inside of a delicate, milky thigh, while the other skillfully produced a handful of fresh, hand-picked wildflowers. 

“Brought you these,” he smiled, offering the bouquet to Prompto. Who, for all his previous shock, was suddenly blushing a warm shade of red and staring at the flowers like he’d never received a gift before in his life. 

“What…? What do I do with them?”

There was a deep sound as Gladio chuckled under his breath. “Hold them? Put them in a glass? Anything you like.”

Casting a cautious glance back at Ezma, Prompto reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the stems. “Thank you.” Only a moment’s hesitation before he was swooping down to press his lips to Gladio’s cheek, a fleeting but meaningful kiss. When he pulled back, his cheeks were an even more fiery red under scattered freckles, and he held the flowers closer to his face in an attempt to hide the smile spreading across it. 

“If you’re just out picking flowers,” he whispered in teasing accusation. “At least find some herbs or something else useful.”

Though Gladio’s brow arched, the amused grin curving his lips only widened. “Like what?”

There was the blush again, growing deeper as Prompto thought. “Jasmine. It’s a small white flower, with yellow in the center,” he added when Gladio looked confused. “They grow near the stream just down there.”

The larger man followed his gaze off into the woods. “Alright. But don’t blame me if I grab the wrong stuff.” Before Prompto could reply, Gladio was taking off again, his shadow disappearing around the edge of the caravan and out of sight. 

  
This time, the wait was considerably longer. Prompto alternated between dozing in the window and attending to his daily chores: cleaning out the fire pit, mending some of Ezma's tattered scarves. By the time he'd finished all the work he could find, the sun was already beginning to hang low in the sky beyond the edges of the trees. Still, Gladio hadn't returned. 

  
He tried not to worry. Gladio was strong, after all, and even with his wound he wouldn't be an easy target for either man or beast. But what if he'd decided to leave for good, to ignore Ezma's warning and never come back? Prompto couldn't blame him, of course. Anyone who spent a day in that stuffy caravan would dream of escape. 

  
But the thought made his chest ache nonetheless.    


It was later, just as his Mistress was stirring awake in her nest, that a noise sounded outside the door. A large thump -- something heavy hitting the steps -- and Prompto immediately jumped to his feet in concern. But when the door swung open and Gladio stepped in carrying a sack over his shoulder, relief surged through him like wildfire. It was all he could do to remain in place across the room.   


"Hope I'm not late," Gladio said, reaching into the bag he was carrying and pulling three freshly-caught hares out by their ears. "Thought I'd help with some dinner tonight."    


Ezma had surprisingly few complaints at the sight of the offering. She turned at once to the pit to get a fire going, while Prompto approached Gladio to help him with skinning the rabbits. He accepted them, careful to conceal the too-obvious bite marks around their necks from Ezma's view, and smiled as he reached up toward the larger man's face. Gladio sucked in a breath -- but when that soft thumb pressed against his lips, it was merely to wipe away the evidence of the blood from his kill.    
  



	6. Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto, it seems, has stolen the werewolf's heart. Though they dream of a life together, it may be too soon for hope.

Dinner had been, at least to someone of Prompto's upbringing, an exorbitant affair. Gladio finished off a hare and a half by himself, while Ezma chewed and clacked down noisily on the bonier parts of the animals. Prompto, however, took his time to properly savor the fresh, juicy meat, sucking the grease noisily from his fingers and ignoring the looks his Mistress kept shooting him. When they'd finished and Prompto had cleaned the table (with Gladio's help, no matter how many times he turned it down), Ezma retreated to her nest of cushions and rags with an old book. Gladio chose a new spot on the floor beside the table where he'd spent the past two weeks, and Prompto, as usual, took up his post in the sill of the window. 

  
Feeling full for perhaps the first time in his life, he smiled and let his eyes drift closed in a comfortable drowsiness, sleep slowly claiming him for the night.    
  


It was much later that he awoke again. The moon was high in the dark sky, a half-circle, bright and calming as it shone down upon him. Aside from his Mistress' snores, there were no sounds either inside or outside the caravan, and he wondered briefly what had drawn him from sleep.    


Then he noticed them: twin amber eyes, glowing unnaturally in the moonlight, peering at him from across the shadows of the room. Prompto swallowed, but held Gladio's gaze fast. There was something about it, something hungry, almost  _ dangerous _ , that captured his attention, refused to let him go. And as Gladio got to his feet in the dark, Prompto felt his heart begin to race.    


The larger man approached in absolute silence, his eyes fixed on blonde hair and pale, freckled skin as he lowered himself down next to him at the window. He smiled, and Prompto grew warmer. For several long moments, neither spoke, only gazed together out at the moon and stars hanging above. Until, at last, Gladio pulled something from his vest pocket, took Prompto's hand into his own as he passed the small parcel to him. "Jasmine flowers," he smiled, indicating the fragrant bundle of herbs wrapped in soft leaves. “I hope this is enough.”   


Blue eyes softened. "It’s perfect," came the whispered reply. Prompto curled his fingers around the gift, but didn't yet pull away from the other's touch. "I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve been so kind to me, and I -- "    


Gladio kissed him then. Slow, tender, his lips like the caress of stars against Prompto's skin. He stopped speaking, stopped thinking, simply wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders to pull him in close. Gladio's tongue licked against his bottom lip and Prompto eagerly drew him in.    


They were both breathless by the time the kiss broke. Under dark freckles, Prompto's cheeks had blossomed a sweet pink color that shone bright and clear under the moonlight. With a grin, Gladio leaned forward to nuzzle the side of his neck, his jaw, at last moving up to blow warm breath against the rim of his ear.    


"I'm going to leave here soon," Gladio said carefully, aware of the way Prompto tensed in his arms. "Before the next full moon. Do you understand?"    


From his shoulder, Prompto gave a shallow nod.    


"Good. Because I want you to come with me."    


_ What?! _ A sharp gasp and Prompto was pulling back, just enough to stare up into the other's eyes in shock. "You...can't be serious?"   


"I am. I've never been more serious in my life, Prom." Lips descended once more, peppering feather-light kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. "We can leave here together. Travel the world, see it all as free men. Please say yes, Prom, please come with me."   


"I...." He felt lightheaded, dizzy from more than just Gladio's mouth on him. What he was asking was a future Prompto had never considered possible. He was a slave, had always been a slave, would  _ die  _ a slave because what other options did he have? Leave here? Travel the world? He wouldn't even make it to the edge of the woods before they caught him and dragged him back to his Mistress. If he was lucky, she would only remove a few of his fingers, or collar him with heavy chains. If he was unlucky....   


Prompto shuddered in Gladio's arms, but the larger man only hugged him tighter. "I know what you must be thinking," he said with a sigh. "You know what I am, and yeah, you'd be crazy to want to run away with a monster. But I can find you someplace safe, I promise it. And," - here he paused to stroke the edge of Prompto's jaw, smiled at him with hope and sadness behind his amber eyes - "I would search for a cure."   


Prompto blinked. "...A cure? Is there such a thing?" .    


"I don't know. But I would go to the ends of the globe to find one, if it means we can be together."    


And that was it. There was nothing more Prompto could say. His heart was suddenly light with a desperate hope -- of course he wanted to leave! Nothing would make him happier than to escape this place and live his life in his own way. And yet...it seemed a dream too far out of his grasp.    


Tears gathered as he let his eyes fall closed, buried his fingers in thick, dark hair as he dove into a burning kiss. Gladio tugged him close, easily lifted Prompto into his lap even as he chased the blonde's mouth with his own. Pale, slim legs wrapped around that muscular waist. Prompto drew one of Gladio's hands down, down, u ntil his fingers were brushing over the soft silk of his undercloth, and begged with his eyes.    


Wordlessly, breathlessly, Gladio answered him as his hand slid beneath the fabric.

 


	7. Jasmine Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out. Prompto decides to show Gladio why he asked for those jasmine flowers, and in doing so gives him his answer.

It was the next day, after Ezma had left for the market and Gladio had gone down to the river to bathe, that Prompto found himself alone for the first time in what seemed like ages. Since the charismatic werewolf had come into the picture, there’d been hardly a moment of peace  _ or _ quiet inside the tiny caravan, and now, with only himself as company, the silence was almost deafening. 

Prompto passed the time with chores, and eventually a simple bath of his own using a rag and a bowl filled with rose-scented water. As he washed himself, the fragrance of the herbs called his thoughts back the gift he’d received from Gladio the day before -- a bundle of jasmine flowers, still fresh and tucked securely under his cushion in the window sill. He finished cleaning himself in something of a rush, excitement getting the better of him, and hurried back to his post to draw the flowers out of their hiding place. 

They smelled divine, sweet yet earthy, and Prompto smiled as he unwrapped the leaves from around the delicate petals. Gladio had done well; there were ten of the small flowers all told, and each one was in near perfect condition. Plenty, Prompto hummed, for what he was planning to make. 

And so he set to work, pestle in one hand and mortar in the other, grinding and adding ingredients until the flowers slowly turned first into powder, then to paste.

This was how Gladio found him nearly an hour later. He’d returned from his trip to the river wearing freshly washed cotton pants and the borrowed vest, which left his tattoo exposed where the cloth fell open. For the first time, he'd also pulled his damp, usually unruly hair back at the nape of his neck, and had secured it in place with a silk tie. The sight as he walked through the door was enough to still Prompto’s hand mid-stir.

"Something smells great," Gladio observed, setting down his hand towel and checking to make sure the lady of the house was still out. "You cooking something for lunch?"

Prompto smiled at him, still unable to tear his eyes from the very pleasant view, and answered him with a shake of his head. 

Gladio joined him at the table, kneeled down to peer into the small bowl between his fingers. "Well it smells too sweet to be any of those nasty medicines the witch gives me. What is it?" 

“Here. Give me your hand," the blonde said. He took Gladio’s fingers in his and guided them to the white, creamy paste in the bowl. Dipping them in, Gladio arched an eyebrow at the smooth texture, rubbed some of the paste between his thumb and forefinger until a clear oil began to swell at the surface. Prompto’s cheeks flushed at the sight, but somehow the larger man was still lost. 

"Okay, it's pretty. But what's it for?" Amber eyes followed the length of Prompto’s arm up from where his fingers still rested on one large wrist. 

"Well, do you remember those flowers I asked for yesterday?" He chewed his lip as Gladio nodded. "They were for this. It's…a kind of oil. In its pure form it's very expensive. Sometimes the men who -- who Ezma does business with, they have this. To make things  _ easier _ ." He paused for a moment to let Gladio catch up, watched as understanding bloom a subtle red across his face. "But I made this batch for you. For us. I-if you’d like." 

Gladio didn’t respond for a moment. He continued to spread the silky cream between his fingers, looked from Prompto’s wide, bright eyes to the door of the caravan, and back again. Considering, planning. 

"Does this stuff," he began slowly, his voice low and only for the two of them. "Make it feel good for you, too?" 

Prompto’s blush deepened, as did his smile. "Ezma will be gone until sunset. Would you like to find out?"

Gladio needed no further invitation. Instantly leaning forward, he captured Prompto’s lips with his own, kissing him even as he guided the blonde onto his back on the floor.  Somewhere along the way, the bowl of jasmine oil was discarded onto the surface of the table -- and then pale, slender arms were coiling around Gladio’s neck. 

The vest was shrugged off, the blue silk of Prompto’s top untied and tossed out of sight. Gladio’s pants were unbuttoned and slid down over his hips, releasing not only his cock in the front, but also the dark brown length of his tail behind. Prompto went for both. 

A groan escaped Gladio’s throat as skilled fingers wrapped around him; one set brushing over soft fur, the other beginning to stroke him towards full hardness. He worked through the pleasure, focusing his attention as best he could on hooking his own fingers around the cold metal that encircled Prompto’s hips. Removing it was a struggle even without the hand on his cock, but at last he twisted the belt and managed to slide the narrow opening over Prompto’s waist. 

Finally free from the bite of the metal, the blonde gasped and arched up against the body hovering above him. His own lust was evident now, straining in the front of his underclothes, pressing firm into Gladio’s abs and forcing him to break the kiss. 

“Do you want -- ?”

“ _ Yes! _ ”

“Spread your legs.”

Prompto did as he was told, gazing up at Gladio even as he pulled his knees back to his chest and let them fall open. Chest flushed red, cock hard and pulsing beneath the thin, white cloth, he was beautiful, vulnerable,  _ perfect _ . While Gladio reached blindly for the oil, his eyes remained spellbound by the tempting sight. 

The cloth wrapped between his legs was thumbed aside, and Prompto immediately gasped at the first touch of cool, slick cream against the skin just below his balls. Gladio stroked there a few times, drawing more surprised sounds from the smaller man’s lips, then continued further down to the tense ring of muscle below. Closing his eyes, Prompto bit his lip in anticipation. 

...And melted at the sensation of Gladio’s finger merely petting over the spot. He’d been expecting a jolt of pain, the discomfort that usually followed a sudden intrusion. Certainly that was what he’d been used to with the men who had handled him in the past. But Gladio…. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, for a werewolf, he was the kindest, most caring soul Prompto had ever met, and it should follow that he’d be just as gentle in all aspects of life. 

The blonde moaned again in approval, rolling his hips slightly to encourage more. Gladio smiled and rubbed the pad of his finger down again, teased the opening there but didn’t yet try to force his way inside. He was taking his time,  loosening the muscles little by little and spreading the fragrant cream across Prompto’s milky skin. By the time he was satisfied with his work, the blonde was practically mewling, his cock leaking his pleasure through the fabric of his underwear. 

With a wide smile, Gladio leaned forward enough to press a kiss to the inside of one knee. “Ready?” There was an impatient series of nods in reply. Nods which, when that first, thick finger slid into him with almost no effort, turned into full body rolls as pleasure surged through every nerve. He moaned, loud and unbidden, and Gladio rushed forward to swallow it into his own mouth while his fingers set to work. 

A second, and eventually a third, followed the first, until Gladio was twisting and curling them together against hot, slick inner walls. Deeper and deeper, touching here and there as if searching for --  _ ah _ , yes. When Prompto’s hips shot up and his moans turned into muffled cries, Gladio knew he’d hit his mark. He thrust in again and again, assaulting the spot that was driving Prompto wild beneath him, until at last his body went rigid and he came with a breathless cry. 

It was several minutes before blue eyes fluttered open again. Prompto glanced up and mirrored the smile hanging from Gladio's lips, slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows to meet them in a kiss. The act was tender, unhurried, Prompto's body still coming down from the high of his orgasm. Gladio held him close and returned the kiss until he felt the other's breathing slow to a calm. 

This time, when Prompto began to move again, it was Gladio who felt himself being guided back onto the floor. He grinned, white teeth flashing even as the blonde stripped off his dirtied undercloth and straddled his hips with practiced ease.

"Just because I'm still your patient doesn't mean you have to keep taking care of me."

Prompto was busy dipping his fingers into the bowl of jasmine, but his lips curled into a smile all the same. "Don't misunderstand," he joked, reaching back behind himself to coat the shaft of Gladio's cock with the slick oil. The larger man bucked instinctively into the touch, his tail flicked noisily against the wooden floor. "I  _ want  _ to ride you like this. I want to be able to see your face." 

Gladio might have answered with something that sounded like agreement, but in that moment the warmth of Prompto's fingers left him. They were replaced in an instant by a different kind of heat -- all silk and slick as the blonde sat back onto him, easily taking the head of his cock into his body.

It was already overwhelming. Prompto chewed his lip as he lowered himself down, taking Gladio further into himself with every inch. He'd known the werewolf was exceptionally well-endowed -- he was larger than any other man Prompto had ever taken -- and with that he had once again expected pain. Yet, while the stretch was impressive enough to take his breath away, for the first time he felt nothing but pleasure as that hot length entered him. 

Gladio sensed it, too. Between the oil and his careful work to prepare the smaller man's body, there was almost no resistance as more and more heat enveloped him. Eyes wide, he watched in awe the way his flesh continued to disappear into Prompto's body until he was swallowed up completely and those soft, freckled mounds were flush with his hips.

For a long moment Prompto couldn't move. He stared down at Gladio, mouth open in a silent moan, savoring the sensation of being so utterly full. It felt incredible, indescribable, unlike any other contact he'd ever had, and his mind was swimming with the pleasure of it. But the weight inside him begged to be soothed. Eyes growing heavy, Prompto flattened his palms atop Gladio's stomach and began to drag his hips forward. 

Gladio shuddered when the blonde rocked himself back again. His entire back arched and he thrust up to meet Prompto's body, sheathing his cock deeper inside him in one swift move. Then again, and again, picking up a steady rhythm of sliding and rolling and snapping of hips. Just as the scent of jasmine had begun to fill the room, so, too, did the sounds of their sex -- flesh hitting flesh, Gladio’s tail swishing against the floor, shuddering gasps and moans as their bodies met over and over again. Gladio's fingers were digging hard enough into the blonde's thighs to leave marks, but neither seemed to notice or care in the midst of their passion. 

The pace quickened. Before Prompto realized it, his own cock was hard and throbbing between his legs once more. He spread his thighs further apart, let his head fall back to his shoulder blades as he reached down to stroke himself in an act he’d been forbidden for far too long. 

The sight of it was too much for his dark-haired lover. Gladio watched Prompto's fingers fly over heated flesh, and groaned as the muscles squeezing around him clenched ever tighter. In his gut, a familiar tensing, an almost painful coiling sensation that demanded release. 

Amber eyes fell shut. Fingers gripped pale thighs as his body slammed up into Prompto, desperate, hard. He groaned, his orgasm already tearing through him, and buried himself deep into that accommodating frame until his sex was bursting forth to fill it. Above him, Prompto stilled. 

The vision of Gladio coming undone was almost as perfect as the warmth that spread through him as a result. Prompto shivered, fingers holding but no longer pumping himself in lieu of savoring the moment. Gladio looked so raw, so  _ powerful  _ in climax, with his teeth bared and his muscles straining, his tattooed chest glistening with sweat. Not unlike the first night he'd laid eyes on him, Prompto thought, but this time his body strained with pleasure rather than pain. 

It wasn't until Gladio's orgasm had subsided and he'd collapsed back onto the floor that Prompto saw fit to move again. Almost lazily he resumed stroking himself, rolled his hips in a gentle rhythm that slowly coaxed the larger man's cock back out of his body. Under heavy lids, Gladio watched him as his lips curved into a smile. 

The moment Prompto slid completely off his length, Gladio was gesturing him closer. Strong hands tugged his hips forward, helping him to position his knees on either side of his face. Though his beard was rough against Prompto's thighs, there was no room for complaint once he'd dipped his head to take the blonde's cock into his mouth. Prompto gasped, sighed, gave himself over as he allowed Gladio to set the pace. Full lips and firm tongue plying against his skin, Gladio's fingers once more teasing the sensitive muscles of his opening, his tail (now calm in afterglow) brushing against the back of his leg -- it was this combination that brought him tumbling over the edge and had his body shuddering once again as he released his pleasure. 

Gladio swallowed everything down, careful not to waste a single drop. 

The air still hummed with energy. Once he found that he could move again, Prompto settled down next to Gladio's side and sighed as large arms encircled him. Neither spoke, yet the silence was somehow comfortable, broken only by the sounds of Gladio's lips pressing kisses to the top of blond locks. 

Perhaps surprisingly, the first to eventually speak again was Prompto. He’d been quietly playing with Gladio’s tail at his side, marvelling at the softness of the dark fur between his fingers and smiling every time it flicked against his palm. "Gladio," he whispered at last, breaking the silence. The body against him shifted, and suddenly he was gazing up into amber pools. "How much longer will you stay?"

The answer didn't come right away. Gladio's expression seemed to darken for a moment as he considered his words. "Three days. Maybe less. I can feel the moon's pull more and more every night. If I don't leave soon, it might be too late."

"Where will you go?"

From the way Gladio tensed, it seemed the question had managed to catch him off guard. "That depends," he said very carefully. "On you."

Another silence fell. Prompto continued to pet the werewolf’s tail, casually, fondly; somewhere along the way it had become almost normal to him. And then, a new question was spilling from his lips before he could contain himself. "What's it like? When you transform, I mean. Does it hurt?"

"It does. Every time." A heavy sigh. Gladio raised one hand up to flex his fingers in front of his face. "It always starts with the claws. Then the teeth. Feels like my bones are growing too big for my body, ripping right out of me faster than the rest of me can keep up. There’s such intense pain and then... _ nothing _ . No feeling, no fear. No control. Once the monster takes over, it's like being stuck inside someone else's nightmare." 

Prompto sucked in the breath he'd been holding as his curiosity continued to get the better of him. "Can you remember it afterwards?"

Cautiously, Gladio shook his head. "Usually no. But." The ghost of something passed like a shadow over his face. "Sometimes it's clear what I've done. Sometimes there's no escaping it."

"Have you...ever killed anyone?"

"...Yes." 

Gladio waited for a moment, but when Prompto neither spoke nor flinched away, he gathered his thoughts and continued. "Before I came to this place, I was staying in a village just outside these woods. Before the moon had fully waxed I thought I'd gotten far enough away, but.... When I woke up, I was in a farmhouse. It was morning, but everything was silent. And there was...blood. A lot of blood." He sighed. "I found the family later. They'd been torn to pieces, all of them. Even the children."

"Gladio...."

"I couldn't even think about running. Some of the villagers came after me. They tried to kill me," he said, a wry laugh passing his lips as he pressed his palm down over the freshly-healed scar on his side. "And who could blame them? I’m a monster."

"You're  _ not  _ a monster."

“You haven’t seen -- “

Before Gladio could finish, Prompto cut him off with a firm shake of his head. "There's a monster  _ inside of you _ , but that isn't who you are."

"...Prom, I don't understand."

"Would you ever hurt me?"

At that, twin amber jewels blinked in surprise, and perhaps a little in confusion. "Of course not. I would never hurt you, I lo -- "

Prompto's mouth closed over his in the space of a heartbeat. The blonde hugged tighter to him, wrapped his arms around broad shoulders and kissed him until all he knew was the scent, the taste, the feel of his mouth. And when at last Prompto pulled back, his brilliant smile brought tears to Gladio's eyes. 

"I want to go with you. When you leave, take me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I hope you've enjoyed the fluffy smutty romance up until now, because things aren't so pretty from here on out. Gladio is a werewolf, and to me werewolves mean horror stories, monsters, and gore. If you were looking for a happy ending, you won't find it here....


	8. Everything Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Gladio's wounds have healed, there's something else keeping him trapped in Ezma's caravan.

That night was unseasonably cold. Clouds filled the dark sky, swallowing up the stars and blocking out the light of the waxing moon. In his window, Prompto had finally fallen into a fitful sleep under a blanket barely large enough to cover his shoulders -- but his mind had been too preoccupied to care. 

 

His thoughts turned again and again to the plans he and Gladio had made to escape. The details were fuzzy, at best, and impractical at worst, but somehow they still filled him with a rare hope. According to plan, they were wait until they were alone again, and make a run for the woods when the coast was clear. Gladio had spoken of a village beyond the northern edge of the trees. If they could make it there, they could find shelter, food, protection. 

 

Emotions spread through him, made his hands and finger tremble with more than just the chilled air. Excitement, trepidation, the fear of diving into the unknown. A huge risk, there was so much that could go wrong, and yet if their plan succeeded he would know freedom for the first time in his life. 

  
Even after he'd shut his eyes, Prompto’s racing mind kept him balanced right on the edge of sleep. And so, when he first heard the cries, he bolted upright in an instant. 

  
With wide eyes he scanned the darkness of the caravan. He heard the voice again -- a low whine, deep and pained, from the table where Gladio usually slept. Prompto's heart began to pound as he searched for him in the dark room. 

  
But before he could whisper his name, a light flickered to life next to the table. All at once the scene was thrown into stark illumination -- Gladio's body rigid and soaked in sweat atop the table; Ezma kneeled at his side, her face twisted in unreadable emotion as she lifted something in her hand. It was small, and green, and Prompto immediately recognized it as the impwort she had used before on Gladio's wound. 

  
But this time when she pressed it to his side, Gladio roared in pain, thrashing against the table as if he were in the throes of death.

  
Prompto was on his trembling feet before he could remember his place. 

  
"What's wrong with him?" he asked, his own voice booming and unnatural to his ears. Ezma turned at the sound, narrowed her eyes as her slave staggered forward to the man on the table. 

  
"Insolent  _ whelp _ ," she snarled. With a knotted hand she batted him away from her patient. "Found your voice, I see. Makes me wonder what else you've been getting up to while I'm out." 

  
Prompto started to shrink under her cold gaze, but then Gladio let out another terrible groan and his attention shifted again. 

  
"What's wrong with him?" He pressed, ignoring Ezma's warning in favor of reaching out towards his lover's straining body. 

  
" _ Don't touch, _ stupid boy! Get back!" The witch swung her arm out as she sneered at him. "A worthless catamite like you wouldn't understand. This man - he isn't quite what he seems." 

  
In the light of her candle, Ezma's face stretched into a horrid, toothless grin. Prompto forced his eyes away from her -- and that's when he saw it. _ A knife _ ; cold, sharp steel lying on the table next to Gladio's thigh. Understanding sliced through him, turning his blood to ice in his veins. 

  
"What have you done to him?" came his soft, terrified voice in the small space of the caravan. "You're going to hurt him...."

  
Ezma leaned back over the body on the table, muttered to herself as if she hadn't heard Prompto's words. "The moon is weak. It's early, _too_ _early_ , but I can't wait any longer." 

  
As Prompto watched, helpless, his Mistress tore another leaf from her stalk and pressed it this time between her patient's parted lips. The pitiful whine that started in Gladio's throat turned into a muffled cry as her fingers clasped his chin and forced his mouth closed around it. "Good, swallow it all. You know what this is, don't you? You  _ know _ the sting of wolfsbane against your flesh."

  
_ Wolfsbane? Is that what Ezma had been using on him this whole time? _ Prompto felt his fingers clench into fists at his sides. Had Ezma actually known of Gladio's condition from the start?!

  
"Stop it," he suddenly pleaded. "Stop hurting him!" 

  
"And you!" Now whirling around, the witch turned her dreaded, half-blind eyes on the shivering blonde behind her. "Don't think I haven't noticed! The looks, the  _ touches _ . Foolish slut! You've been spreading your legs for this beast every night under  _ my _ roof! And after all I've done to take care of you." As she got to her feet, her gnarled fingers hooked around the handle of her knife and lifted it off the table. It seemed to weigh in her hand, drawing Prompto's attention even as the witch hobbled towards him. 

  
"Please," he croaked. "Just let us go. We'll never trouble you again, I swear it.…"

  
" _ Let you go? _ First you have the nerve to raise your voice to me, now you ask me for freedom. Hah!" 

  
From the other end of the table, Gladio suddenly turned toward the two of them, the noise having broken even through the fog of his fever. His eyelids slowly slid open, revealing not the usual amber but instead golden-yellow orbs that glowed bright and fearful in the dim light. In the center, slits of deep, inhuman black widened, then narrowed to focus directly on Prompto. His expression shifted from one of confusion to that of a predator. 

  
"Gla...dio...?"

  
Prompto had stopped moving, his feet frozen to the spot as he stared back into those dangerous eyes. But it was a costly mistake. Ezma took the chance to close the distance between them.

  
"The price of just one  _ tooth _ is enough to replace a worn, disobedient slave like you. Just think of how many I can buy once I bring the entire  _ head _ of a werewolf to market."

  
"No...."   _ No _ .  _ This couldn't be happening. _ Prompto looked at Gladio and saw the pain behind the hunger in his eyes, felt his heart shatter as he imagined his head -- the head of a wolf, dark brown and matted with blood -- on display amidst trinkets and magic items beneath some merchant’s tent. It wasn't fair,  _ it wasn't fair! _ His dream of freedom, of staying by Gladio's side, of loving and being loved in return, were dashed to pieces at Ezma's feet. 

  
It wasn't fair, and he hated her for it. 

  
"No!" He said again, louder this time. His feet left the hard wood of the floor an instant later, and suddenly he was lunging at his Mistress with his fists at the ready. 

  
But despite her age, she was faster. Her knife arched through the light, catching Prompto in the arm as he came toward her. Pain blossomed as red blood spilled forth -- and from his throat came a twisted scream before he fell to the ground. 

  
" _ Ungrateful whore. _ " The witch was on him instantly, knife hovering above Prompto's chest. "Useless, stupid boy. I'll kill you first, and burn your body with the wolf!" 

  
Steel flashed. Prompto's heart faltered and he shut his eyes against the inevitable blow. Yet, just before it struck, his ears were filled with a terrifying, inhuman growl. Like a sound from the depths of his worst nightmare. The very air shook with the force of it, and even Ezma froze in place with cold fear. 

  
She never had a chance to turn around.    
Something collided with her body, a dark blur, solid and fast, and Prompto watched as his Mistress was sent flying across the room. Her head hit the far wall with a terrible crack, her body slumped down, crumpled, unmoving.  _ Dead _ . 

  
A tremor ran through the blonde as his eyes immediately focused on the source of the attack.

  
Gladio was standing before him, impossibly tall even with his hulking shoulders slouched and his head bowed low. His face was hidden in shadow, but even without a clear view Prompto could tell he was... _ changed _ .    
When his jaw -- altogether too long and too heavy -- opened, it wasn't his familiar, deep voice that emerged but instead a slow, rumbling growl. 

  
"G...Gladio.... P-please..." Blue eyes had gone round, all other thoughts escaping his mind save for the vision of the werewolf poised before him. Gladio took a lumbering step forward, unbalanced almost as if he were drunk, and the sound of his claws scraping the floor sent Prompto's panic into overdrive. "D...on't..." 

  
The werewolf stopped, suddenly going rigid. He reared back on legs too long and thick to be human and howled, mouth opening to reveal long, sharp teeth beneath a darkened snout. 

  
"...Help me." The prayer left Prompto's lips in a hushed whisper, far too quiet for the gods to hear. The sound of bones crunching and breaking filled the air as Gladio's body shifted, his shoulders growing larger and his limbs longer. Blue cotton pants ripped to tatters and fell to the ground under the pressure of his expanding girth, legs bulking up impossibly both with muscle and thick, dark hair. 

  
For a moment, his large hands obscured his face as he howled into them, and then -- then he went still. Too still. 

  
The transformation was complete. 

  
Sickly yellow eyes rolled forward, staring down at Prompto from between horrifying claws. The werewolf teetered in place as he took in the sight of his prey, his haggard growls almost like a dark, unnatural laugh as they passed his lips. Yet still he didn't move, he didn't attack. Only watched Prompto cowering in fear at his feet. 

  
Behind him, his tail swished once in the light, and something vaguely Gladio-like passed like a shadow over his features. 

  
" _ Run _ ," he growled, and Prompto did.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings. This is your last chance to escape while you can.


	9. The Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transformed, Gladio is a terrifying sight. Prompto is torn between fleeing to save his own life, or staying behind with his monstrous lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you. If you're still here reading this, you are a brave soul indeed.  
> Alternate chapter title: Prompto has a really, really bad night.

The earth beneath his bare feet was cold. Dew from the grass clung to his ankles, to the bottom of his half-skirt as he ran, first out into the night air and then straight for the trees. The forest ahead was dark --  _ everything was dark _ \-- and his heart pounded louder in his chest than even his footsteps on the hard ground. 

A sound behind him, low rumbling and the  _ creak _ of a monstrous weight bearing down on the steps of the caravan. Prompto didn’t need to look back to know what was there. In his mind he could still see the shadow of the werewolf -- of Gladio fully transformed -- as clearly as if he were still trembling at its feet. 

_ Gladio. That thing in there was Gladio. He killed Ezma, he’s going to kill everyone. _ Through his panic, a feeling of hopelessness suddenly gripped him, bringing him to a halt just at the edge of the woods. Prompto looked ahead of him into the blackness of the forest, then down at his bare, dew-covered feet and sobbed.  _ Run _ , Gladio had warned him before the last of his humanity was swallowed up by that beast. But where was he supposed to go? How far could he really get before the werewolf caught him anyway? 

And worse, how could he leave the entire camp at the mercy of a death they would never even see coming? 

Tears, hot and stinging, began tumbling down his cheeks. Yet Prompto’s lips were set in a tight line as he slowly turned on his heels to once more face the gypsies’ clearing. His gaze fell on the steps of Ezma’s caravan, and then on the hulking shadow poised at the top of them. 

At full height the werewolf was easily seven, maybe eight feet, the tips of its pointed ears reaching the edge of the wooden roof as it towered above the door frame. The shoulders, too, were broad and thick, powerful muscles rippling beneath a layer of dark-brown fur. At the end of its long arms, human-like hands clenched and twitched at its sides, each finger tipped with a claw as long and deadly as a hunting knife. From where Prompto stood, immobile, he could see the beast's head tilting to one side, then the other, its pale yellow eyes rolling to follow the numerous scents and sounds in the night air. 

And then the werewolf opened its maw, a slow, deliberate act, showing off its rows of sharp fangs as a long, red tongue slid out over too-stretched lips. 

A grin. 

Prompto froze, paralyzed to the spot. Had the monster noticed him there, immobile and easy prey? But when the shadow moved, it was headed not for him, but in the opposite direction, taking off toward the far edge of trees with a bounding leap. 

The werewolf was gone, and in its wake a sliver of hope. Perhaps...it had caught the scent of something in the forest? Perhaps it was heading back to the village where it had last fed? Timidly, Prompto began to walk forward into the clearing, one foot shuffling after the other in unsure steps. His wide eyes remained fixed on the point where the werewolf had disappeared into the darkness, yet there was no movement among the edge of the trees. 

Then, just as his heart began to calm, he heard it -- the  _ howl _ . Unearthly and chilling Prompto to the bone as it echoed around the camp like the cry of a dozen beasts at once. He threw his hands over his ears to drown out the terrible sound as lights flickered to life in the caravans around him. 

"What? What is it?"

"A wolf? In these parts?"

"Nothing, it's just the wind, go back to sleep."

"Mummy, I'm scared."

Prompto wanted to scream. Wanted to shout at the top of his lungs for them all to run, just run for their lives, but when he opened his mouth his voice was barely above a whisper. 

"Werewolf," he hissed, his throat constricting with fear. "Werewolf! Werewolf!"

From the nearest of the caravans, a door flew open and a head emerged. "You? You're the witch's boy. What’re you -- ?"

" _ WEREWOLF _ !"

The warning came too late. Like a bolt of lightning the monster flew from the edge of the trees and collided with the man where he stood. Blood spattered the door of the wagon, his screams were cut pitifully short as the wolf's jaw clamped down on his neck and shoulder, nearly biting him in two in one swift move. Prompto's shock was broken by the high-pitch wail that followed -- the man's wife inside the caravan, no doubt, though she never had a chance to see her husband's body crumple to the ground. 

The werewolf launched from one kill to the next, and the wet sounds of blood and crunching bone filled the room beyond. 

Panic forced Prompto to his senses. He turned to flee from the scene as fast as his bare feet would carry him. 

Around the camp, more and more lights flicked on behind drawn curtains, more heads peeked out in curiosity, but the quiet didn't last for long. As Prompto rushed by in a blur of blue cloth and yellow hair, the dark shadow of the beast followed. Screams of  _ Werewolf! Gods help us! _ shook the very air as the people began to abandon their homes. 

Behind Prompto there was a loud crash, glass shattering as he could only assume the werewolf had launched itself through a window. More screams, followed by the roar of fire blazing to life. Despite himself, Prompto turned to watch as flames first engulfed a tattered, blood-stained curtain, them climbed the wooden walls of the caravan to set the whole thing alight.

Another howl rang through the night. From out of the flames the werewolf emerged, its fur matted with sweat and blood and yellow eyes rolling. For a moment Prompto once again found himself rooted to the scene -- and then, like the others, he was turning away to flee.

That's when a weight collided with him, and the blonde was sent sprawling to the cold ground. He looked up in time to see the panicked man who had bumped him pause for a single heartbeat, glancing at Prompto with pure fear in his eyes. Then he was whirling away to disappear into the trees with the rest. 

Prompto was too slow. By the time he'd gotten to his feet, he could already feel the hot breaths rolling against the back of his neck. He didn't dare turn around. Didn't dare face the open maw of the werewolf before it could take his life. Terror gripped his heart. It chilled him to the bone even as the heat of that huge, monstrous body edged closer, and without hearing his own voice he began to beg.

"Please, please don't," he whispered as hot tears flooded down his cheeks. "Gladio… please help me…."

Against his neck, something surprisingly wet brushed over his flesh and sent tremors down his spine. It came again, accompanied the second time by a small series of huffing sounds. The werewolf’s snout, he realized with a start. It was  _ smelling him.  _

Prompto’s gut tightened at the implications. Did enough of Gladio still exist within the monster to recognize him? Could it detect the faint scent of roses on his skin, or the hint of jasmine oil left on him from their afternoon together? Gladio had promised once that he would never hurt him,  _ could never _ out of love. But the question was, would the beast be able to honor those same vows? 

The smell of blood and death reeked heavily on the werewolf’s mouth as it edged closer. Its nose was replaced by a different wetness, and Prompto shuddered violently as a long tongue slid over his nape. Rough, hot, very obviously  _ non-human _ and yet at the same time the act was familiar. Mere hours before, while Prompto had lain in Gladio’s arms, his back to his broad chest, he’d felt the tender brush of his lips against the same place. At that time, the sensation had filled him with warmth and heat. But now….

The tongue lapped once more against his skin and Prompto had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from screaming. Blood filled his mouth, but it was nothing compared to the scent of the beast behind him as, growling slowly, it moved to encircle him.

He was going to die, he was sure of it. Whether from the sharp claws trailing up his arms or the dripping fangs that hovered just above the skin of his neck, Prompto could feel death all around him. He could also feel the weight of the monster pressing forward, the prickling of dark fur against his bare back, and -- Prompto’s eyes widened. His breath hitched somewhere in his burning chest.  _ No. No, not that. It can’t be --! _

But there it was, thick and growing longer against the small of his back. Prompto didn’t need to see the werewolf’s cock to know what it was pressing against him, but still he couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, because that would mean that the monster  _ did _ remember him, remembered all the ways Gladio had known and tasted his body. And that it, too, hungered for more than just an easy kill. 

More figures ran past him in the dark. The last of the survivors fleeing the camp made it to the edge of the woods and disappeared into the shadows before Prompto could think to call out for help. They were leaving him to a fate worse than death, and yet how could he blame them? He meant nothing to them, had never been more than a slave, and even his final breaths would be in their service. He would stall the monster, he would die, so that they all might live. 

Tears stung the backs of his eyes, but he forced them down. What was the use in crying now? As teeth gnashed behind his head and rough claws shoved him to the ground, Prompto didn’t bother to fight. All he could hope was that the werewolf would kill him quickly, swiftly, so that his suffering would be short. 

He hit the cold earth and clenched his fingers around fistfuls of dirt. The heat and weight of the werewolf lowered to encompass him again, and Prompto bit back a scream when the sandpaper of its tongue dragged across the bare skin of his back. It licked him over and over, tongue lapping at jasmine-scented flesh, until the beast’s breaths were coming in hot, ragged pants and Prompto’s skin was red and raw. It hurt, but the pain was secondary to his fear in that moment, and he could do nothing but shudder and tremble as the werewolf touched him. 

There was a distant sound of something tearing, fabric being ripped apart. But it wasn’t until the light cloth of his half-skirt drifted down past his knees that Prompto realized it was his own clothing being shredded off. The werewolf’s claws had torn through the silk as easily as they had that first man’s flesh, and the sensation of them against his naked hips forced a sob from his throat. 

_ Kill me, kill me, please kill me, _ he begged silently, struggling with his own instincts to shift his body away from the monster.

But already the werewolf was mounting him. Thick, shaggy fur brushed almost gently against the backs of Prompto’s thighs and ass. Its long, slick cock, which already felt larger and thicker than Gladio's before the transformation, slid down between his legs to nudge against his balls. Prompto sucked in a sharp breath -- and held it in lieu of screaming when the monster began to rut against him 

His own cock hung limp below his stomach, his fingers clenching around cold earth as the acrid, bloody scent of the werewolf's mouth neared his shoulder. Red-tinted foam drooled from black lips, dripped onto his skin and the ground below. The werewolf growled, a low, deep rumbling that shook Prompto's entire frame, and rocked down harder against him seeking a way inside his body. 

"S...stop...," the blonde begged, though his voice was little more than air. "Don't...."

Another growl. Sharp claws dragged up the length of Prompto's thigh with enough pressure to lacerate his skin, the pain at last forcing his voice out in a sharp cry. "Stop!" came the desperate plea, but it was far too late. The beast gripped his ass in one firm hand, paying no mind to the rivulets of blood that began to flow from where its claws had pierced flesh, and forced Prompto's body flush against the ground. That heavy cock was back in an instant, thrusting erratically as it sought his opening. 

Another terrified scream from Prompto had the werewolf bucking forward again at the same spot, pushing against tight muscles and just into the heat beyond. This time when it growled, the sound was more feral, more animalistic, but Prompto could barely hear it over the blood pounding like a thousand drums in his ears.

The pain he felt was beyond words. In the past, some of the men who had paid for him had been too impatient with the necessary preparation and had tried entering him almost completely dry, but even they were nothing compared to the sheer size of the monster pushing into him now. He could feel his muscles being stretched impossibly wide, could feel the way his skin tore and bled until he was nearly numb to it. And still the werewolf’s length continued to fill him, seeming to go on forever as it forced itself deeper inside his body. 

It came to a stop just as Prompto’s stomach gave a violent lurch. His head was spinning, his whole body trembling with the strain of merely holding itself together. Even the ground before his eyes seemed to be shaking, blurring in and out of focus with every ragged breath. But the pain had only just begun; with a snarl the werewolf snapped its hips back, and Prompto screamed with a voice already hoarse as his insides were twisted and nearly ripped from his body. 

There was nothing he could do to stop it. His body was fucked with the primal ferocity of a true monster, his hips driven again and again into the cold ground as the werewolf claimed him. It growled and snarled, clawed at his soft flesh for purchase as it chased its own pleasure deep within him, the blood that spilled into the night air only seeming to fuel its lust. Even long after Prompto went limp, the beast continued to take him, to bruise him, to graze its teeth along his naked back so that it could taste his fear. 

And though his mind had slipped to the very edge of consciousness, Prompto still felt it all. Muscles lax, body unresponsive, he could only close his eyes against flashes of white when the monstrous cock inside of him began to swell. It began to catch against his abused opening with every backwards thrust, until at last the base of it was so swollen that he couldn’t have pulled away from it even if he’d had the willpower. The werewolf made a terrible sound halfway between a howl and a whine, and then a new weight was filling Prompto’s lower body. Heat shot through him fast and powerful. As the monster released its sex inside of him, the blonde’s stomach lurched again and he found his vision going dark. 

It was over. Finally it was over, and he would at last be allowed to die. 

His last thought before his consciousness left him was of Gladio, of his bright amber eyes and his soft lips so full of broken promises. 

Darkness swallowed him, and with a silent sob he eagerly welcomed his own death. 

 

\-------------

 

Gladio awoke to the dim light of a pre-dawn sky. 

There were no birds singing in the trees, none of the usual sounds of the Romani encampment coming to life around him that morning.  _ Strange _ , he thought, and wondered just what could have pulled him from his sleep. 

The first thing he noticed as his senses began to return was that he was outside. That, too, was very strange considering he’d woken up every other morning for the last month atop Ezma’s table, or on the floor of her caravan surrounded by worn and tattered cushions. 

The second thing he noticed was that he was completely naked. 

From there, it didn’t take long for his mind to piece together the rest of the story. The lunar cycle was yet waxing, but somehow, by some dark design, he knew he must have transformed before the full moon. Already he could feel the pull of it weakening on his mind, the werewolf blood inside him falling dormant for yet another month. 

Thus, it was with a heart heavy with guilt that Gladio got to his feet to survey the damage. All around him the camp was in shambles -- dark red-black streaks stained the walls and doors of nearly every caravan, while one of them was reduced to little more than a smoldering husk as the last of the flames ate away at charcoaled wood. Everywhere, the ground was trampled with signs of struggle, signs of panic, but there was no way to tell how many of the people had gotten away. Perhaps, he thought, chest tight with grief, he'd managed to slaughter the entire community. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. 

It was then that, just as Gladio turned his head from the sight of the burnt wagon, something else caught his eye. A thin, pale figure lying utterly still on the ground just a few meters away, half-obscured by smeared,  dried blood and dark bruises. Only the hair, bright blonde and horrifyingly familiar, told Gladio it was a human body, and he wailed as he threw himself toward it. 

" _ Prompt o _ _!!!_ No, gods, please," he cried, dropping onto his knees next to his lover’s unresponsive form. He was lying on his stomach, limbs askew and face pressed to the cold earth. There was so much blood, all of it seeming to come from the deep gashes running criss-cross all over his hips, his legs, his lower back. Claw marks, Gladio shuddered, but refused to look away. He traced his fingers along a particularly painful-looking cut that ran from the curve of Prompto’s ass down to where it disappeared in the shadows between his thighs. Tentatively, Gladio followed the fiery red line, parting Prompto’s legs and staring in horror at what he saw. 

Prompto had been brutalized, there was no other explanation for the deep purple bruises, the torn flesh. And there was more blood. Angry, red, and mixed in places with something else, something lighter in color but just as thick, a testament to his full abuse. 

Gladio swore. He cursed himself, tore at his hair and skin and shouted at Death to come take him swiftly. For who else could have done such a thing? Who else but him, and the monster that lurked in his veins? 

His rage lasted until his very bones were exhausted and his heart felt terribly numb. The sun was already rising, its light filling the clearing just as Gladio began to lumber to his feet. His body moved on instinct rather than any force of his own will over to the nearest of the abandoned caravans. Inside, he found clothes -- a simple tunic and dark pants -- and a blanket large enough to cover a child’s bed. Gladio dressed himself in the former, then carried the blanket back out into the clearing to where Prompto lay unmoving on the ground.

It was in utter silence that he carefully wrapped his lover’s body from shoulders to ankles. Then he lifted the blonde into his arms. 

That morning, Gladio carried Prompto deep into the forest, at last making good on his promise to take him away from the camp. Away from his life as a slave. 

Away forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. There you have it. BUT WAIT! Before you hate me forever, listen - Prompto isn't dead!!! I promise!! And YES I have plans for a sequel :D Ignis and Noct will join in for the fun (as Gladio's pack mates) and it will follow the story of how Prompto deals with everything that has changed between him and Gladio. And also...lots of werewolf shenanigans. And maybe OT4 (at least lots of inter-chocobro smut so YAY)
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you can forgive me for this :)

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the original discourse about this story over at lhugbereth dot tumblr dot com :D


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